The horse ran for days. Without a moments delay it arrived to the infamous nowhere it set off to. Tracing tracks off of uncomfortable moments taken by men in black coats. That horse of his ran. Finding nowhere to run but away. Anywhere but here he told me. Here is not a place he could see his stampede of a heart settling. The stampede moved on. On and over. Over any and everything. Stepping on stools that looked like broken backs and flattened hearts. That cowboy kept running. He never stopped to recognize brilliance. The brilliance between his ears or the one between his skeletal cage of insides. The dust gathered on the platform he knew as home. People stopped by to visit once in a while. To find a flown coupe and no sign of coming back.
Nowhere. The place he eventually stumbled upon. Full of everything he has been running from. Trampling his neurotic brain waves with memories tucked in and put to bed. Cowboy couldn't make sense of the insanity. Of a pursuit of everything left behind would catch him before he arrived. The longing took over as judge. Leveling any possibility of freedom in conscious captivity. Haunting every step the man took away from every issue dropped in garbage cans. Cowboy stool up, chest out his quills drawn. Ready, steady, and ready to attack everything. When this man turned around. He found himself. Alone. Not a single heart around to listen. He did it. Ran away from everything. Including himself. Dirt and dust coving his mouth, the man stood in amazement. Astonished he had found everything he never wanted.
This man never arrived. The town doesn't exist. And neither does the cowboy. But sometimes I wish it were that easy that easy to run.